


The Deadly Manflu

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Don't believe me? Ask Lestrade., Fluff, Having a cold is the WORST, M/M, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: Gregory feels like dying might be a viable option at this point...





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title was a prompt by Ansela. So she's to blame.

“I am pretty sure you won’t die, Gregory. At least not because of this.” 

 

Mycroft studied the man still lying in their shared bed. 

 

Yesterday Greg had called it an early night after commenting on his sore throat. Today he had awoken with swollen eyes, a running nose, and a headache making him want to kill himself. While Mycroft was getting ready to go to work, all Greg had managed was to call in sick and even that had almost been too much. Despite the British Government’s claims to the contrary, he was convinced that this nasty bug he had caught was something serious. There was no way a common cold could make him feel like this.

 

“Do you have to leave?”

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the rather - well, whiny - voice. He would have never expected Greg to turn into the same kind of drama queen Sherlock was when ill. He sighed.

 

“I’ve put a thermos with tea and a second one with hot broth on the night stand. There’s water, juice, cough drops, and tissues as well. You will spend most of the day sleeping it off anyway, so there wouldn’t be much use of me staying here even  _ if  _ I could stay. Which you know I can’t.” He leaned down and put a kiss on his lover’s slightly sweaty but definitely not feverish forehead. “I really have to go, Gregory. Your mobile is fully charged so you can text me if you think of anything you need me to bring home. Or phone John if you’re feeling worse. Sherlock does have a key after all.”

 

Worse? Gregory really couldn’t imagine anything worse at the moment. A part of him knew things could be of course, but with his head throbbing like this, he certainly couldn’t imagine anything that would be, Well, if Mycroft had to leave, then Greg would put up a brave face. He was a grown man after all. “OK. Have a good day, My. I’ll be here waiting for you tonight.”

 

Hearing the obvious self-pity in the voice even if it wasn’t in the words, Mycroft shook his head. “Try to sleep, Love, it’s the best thing you can do right now.”

*

 

Sitting in the car while his driver made his way towards the office, Mycroft used the time to write a quick text and send it to John.

 

“Greg is ill. He might call you later but I doubt it’s anything serious. Sorry for the inconvenience - MH”

*

 

Greg lay in bed trying to sleep. He was too tired and all his limbs ached so tossing and turning was out of the question. Although he had dozed for a while after Mycroft had left, now he was tired but awake. He had taken a few sips of tea but he didn’t feel like he could handle anything as complicated as juice. Damn Mycroft and his old fashioned ways. Usually Greg couldn’t care less about the lack of a telly in the bedroom. They kept busy here otherwise. But now Mycroft wasn’t here and he was alone and miserable and couldn’t even distract himself. Reading was out of the question but so was getting up and dragging himself and the covers over to the couch in the living room. DI Lestrade, a grown man rapidly approaching fifty, felt like crying over the sheer immensity of his misery.

*

 

Mycroft’s day was pretty standard fare. He read some files, he went to two meetings that absolutely required his presence, even if it was just for the other attendants’ feeling of self-importance, and he shared a meal with M at noon.  He respected the woman and she was at least twenty percent more competent than her predecessor but the fact of her gender made coordination a lot harder. He used to simply meet the old M at his club, convenient and less official for both of them. In the afternoon he had no appointments. Usually he spent the time after his business lunch at the Diogenes working from one of the visitor's room and he had certainly planned to do so today.

 

Between his meeting with Dobson from the Foreign Office and Miss Stewart from the UN Mycroft caught himself checking his mobile seven times in half an hour, making sure he had no messages or missed calls.

 

On his way to his lunch with M, Mycroft made his driver stop at a chemist's and bought several cough sweets, Ibuprofen, and Vicks Vaporub, as well as a cold and flu bath. When he grabbed for the cough syrup, he realised he might be overdoing it but that didn’t stop him.

 

M was a pretty observant woman and when Mycroft cut their after-lunch conversation short she was very understanding, seeing him off with a curt nod.

 

“Good luck dealing with whatever crisis it is this time, Holmes.”

 

He felt ashamed of letting her believe his hurry had professional reasons but not overly so.

*

 

Mycroft did his best to enter their home quietly. If Gregory was indeed asleep, he wouldn’t want to wake him up after all. He put his laptop down in the hall, wanting to check the bedroom first before he went to work in his home office.

 

Greg was lying in bed, his eyes closed. He had managed to doze for a while but now he was awake. His eyes were too tired to be held open though, so he just lay there wishing for something, anything to distract him from his misery. At this point he would take old Big Brother reruns just to have something to listen to. The only thing interrupting the monotony at the moment were random coughing fits and the times when he decided to try and blow his nose to get some relief. Not that it ever helped with being able to breath, but still. 

He had contemplated texting John but was still clear-headed enough to know that wouldn’t help at all. Besides he probably was contagious and John had Mary and the baby to think about. Then he heard a very silent footfall just outside the bedroom door right before the door was carefully opened.

 

The whispered “Gregory?” was almost too quiet to make out and it was the most wonderful thing Greg Lestrade had heard in his life.

 

“My? It’s not even dark yet.” He opened his eyes as much as possible to get a good look at his lover.

 

“It’s half three. I figured I could work from home for the remainder of today.”

 

“Oh, My.” Greg swallowed and could feel himself tearing up.

 

The British Government walked over to their bed and bend down to place a gentle kiss on his lover’s forehead once again. He furrowed his brow as he noticed that Gregory’s temperature seemed to be slightly up.

 

“You might be getting a fever.” Mycroft’s fingers gently caressed Greg’s hair out of his face. It was getting longer again and Mycroft did quite enjoy the way it made look Gregory softer somehow.

 

Greg’s only reaction to this information was to lean into Mycroft’s touch.

 

“Did you drink some of the broth?”

 

“Maybe, can’t remember.”

 

Mycroft sighed, obviously Greg decided right now was the perfect moment to drift off to sleep. He checked the thermos and found it untouched, as was the juice. The tea and water had hardly been touched which led to a worried frown.

 

“Now, Gregory,” he raised his voice just enough to make sure he got his lover’s attention, “you need to get some liquids into you, Love.”

 

Greg made a face. “Your broth is terrible.”

 

Mycroft laughed. “It is, I agree. But sadly I’m neither a cook nor did I have the time to prepare anything but instant broth. You still need the minerals and the liquid.”

 

“I don’t wanna.”

 

“Well that is regrettable since you don’t have much say in the matter.” Mycroft poured some of the perfectly adequate broth into a mug and held it carefully up to Greg’s lips. “Drink. It’s not much and after you finished I will let you sleep.”

 

“Will you stay?”

 

“I’ll be in my office just across the hall. And I will check in on you.”

 

“Promise?”

 

Damn Gregory and the way he became absolutely adorable while he was ill and needy. “I promise - if you are a good boy and drink your broth and take some Ibuprofens.” Mycroft really didn’t want the fever to turn into something serious.

 

Greg’s face turned into a frown. “I’m a grown man, don’t treat me like a toddler.”

 

“My treatment of you only reflects your behaviour, lover-mine.” Mycroft handed Greg the pills and a glass of water.

 

The detective inspector tried for an angry look but failed miserably at being anything remotely like intimidating. The result was more or less a grumpy pout as he took the pills and swallowed them.

 

Mycroft should have gotten up and gone to his study, starting to work. But he stayed just a little bit longer as Greg glared at him before he made himself comfortable in an attempt to sleep once again.

 

“Talk to me, My.” Lestrade mumbled into the pillows as at the same time he had turned his back towards his lover.

 

The British Government shook his head at Greg’s behaviour. Nevertheless he began talking softly as his hand gently caressed the hot head below it.

 

“You know Mummy used to do this for me and Sherlock when we were ill, sitting at our bed reading to us. Not stories, mind you, but mathematical proofs and theorems. I was way into calculus when others my age struggled with simple geometry problems. Although - Euclid was a favourite of mine and when I was especially ill Mummy read it to me even when I had grown way beyond it. Such clarity and structure and beauty. The Greeks got it right, you know; math is about logic and beauty, not numbers… they didn’t even have those in their maths, only proportions. I think to this day Mummy is disappointed I didn’t go into the mathematical field. To her anything but pure mathematics is a waste of my talents. When I was younger, she used to point out the winner of the Fields medal every four years and only stopped when I was too old to qualify. - Not that that would mean anything to you, even if you were still awake…”

 

Mycroft slipped out quietly, letting Greg get his much needed rest.

*

 

The British Government managed to work constantly and focussed for 45 minutes before his thoughts began to drift. He could of course have continued to work; he was very good at keeping up his discipline after all. But with no one here to witness what he did, he saw no reason not to indulge himself for once. So he went and checked on the detective inspector currently sleeping in his bed.

 

Obviously Gregory’s sleep wasn’t really restful. He had tossed and turned and now the covers were mostly lying on the ground instead of doing their job of covering Greg’s body. Mycroft took the few steps into the room and picked up the covers from the floor, carefully putting them back around Greg’s now slightly shivering form. The policeman never woke up as Mycroft tucked the covers in around him. He just slipped deeper into sleep as he became warmer, sighing softly as his lover’s hand gently touched his cheek.

 

When Mycroft checked again almost an hour later he almost stumbled into Greg who tried to make his way to the bathroom. The British Government immediately offered his arm but Greg grumpily shoved it away.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“You’re not ‘fine’, Gregory. But if you think you can manage...”

 

“Well I’m not crippled, so just let me through.”

 

Mycroft took a step aside, completely not showing any outward signs of what he thought of Greg’s current behaviour.

 

“Stop that.” Greg grumbled.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I heard that eyeroll - and the sigh you’re so perfectly holding back right now.”

 

“I’m sorry, Love.”

 

Greg furrowed his brow. “Stop being so agreeable, dammit.”

 

“As you wish, Gregory. Now would you kindly stop acting so foolish by standing there arguing with me only wearing your pyjamas and with your naked feet on the cold tiles and get yourself over to the bathroom, so you can get back to bed?”

 

“Fuck you.” Greg stumbled over to the bathroom door, ignoring Mycroft Holmes.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind for when you’re feeling better.” The government official took the opportunity to air out the bedroom while Greg was out. He also shook the covers out and fluffed the pillows.

 

“Wow, you’re a regular housewife,” Greg sneezed as he entered the room.

 

Mycroft graciously ignored the teasing. “Fresh air will do you good, now get under the covers and drink something.”

 

Lestrade actually did as he was told. “I’m feeling terrible.”

 

“Really? I hardly noticed.”

 

“Mycroft!”

 

“Sorry, Love.” Mycroft leaned down for a kiss. “Do you want me to close the window or shall I leave it open for a while?”

 

“Open please.” Greg settled down between the pillows, positively drained from his journey to the loo. “Are you leaving?”

 

“There are several reports I still need to review. Do you need anything before I leave?”

 

“Company?”

 

Mycroft sighed. “I’m going to get my laptop in here.” Part of being a genius was knowing when you were beaten.

*

 

Working next to the slight snores of Gregory Lestrade proved to be astonishingly difficult. He still tossed around moaning from time to time, yet he calmed down almost immediately when his lover’s hand gently caressed him. It was a pity Mycroft needed both hands to work. Sitting on top of the covers on his side of the bed in his waistcoat and socks, this was as much of a relaxed working day as Mycroft had ever experienced. He would never admit it but he actually enjoyed this quite a bit. It was a pity that Gregory had to be ill for this to happen. 

 

Mycroft’s mobile rang two times over the course of the afternoon but both times he could easily clear up the points with his PA. Although Anthea sounded perfectly professional to the untrained ear, Mycroft was very well aware that the quiet and calm way of talking he used to not disturb Gregory’s sleep amused her to no end.

 

When he himself finally had to go to the bathroom, Gregory woke from his slumber.

 

“Don’t go.”

 

“Contrary to popular belief I’m only human, Love. I need to go.” He put a kiss on Greg’s lips as he gently freed himself from his lover’s hands. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

“I already know it.”

 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, stop pouting. You will survive three minutes without my presence.”

 

Judging by Greg’s reaction that had come out harsher than intended. “I’m sorry, I really need to go.”

 

When he came back, Lestrade had fought his way into a sitting position, now actually fully awake.

 

“What’s the time?”

 

“Almost seven. You more or less slept through the day. I texted John in the clinic earlier, giving him an update on your day. He says it’s probably just the cold going around right now, nothing serious. But he thought it prudent to send in the paperwork to get you on sick leave for the remainder of the week. There’s no use to you infecting your colleagues and you can use the rest.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“Well tomorrow I can stay until almost noon, then I’ll have to leave for a meeting. I’m pretty sure I can make it home in time for dinner though. Friday I’ll have to leave at ten at the latest and that’s cutting it close; no idea when I’ll be able to get home. On the other hand I should be able to stay home the whole weekend, working over the phone, writing emails etc.”

 

Greg sighed. This was far more than he could have expected and yet he still wished Mycroft could simply stay, taking care of him. “Sorry for being such a burden.”

 

“Gregory, I get that you are not feeling well, and I’m doing my best to help you get over it. But could you please stop wallowing so much in your misery?”

 

“Well if it  _ is  _ so much of a burden for you, then why don’t you just go back to your study to work and leave me alone.” Greg deliberately turned around, lying down with his back toward Mycroft.

 

The British Government reminded himself of his own feelings when he’d been ill and that he had no right to chastise Gregory just for being more vocal about them. He walked around the bed towards his side, sitting down in front of his lover. “You are  _ not  _ a burden to me, you never will be. I’m doing the best I can though and you trying to guilt me into doing even more is actually beneath you.”

 

“I’m not trying to guilt you into anything.” Lestrade protested.

 

A small smile showed on Mycroft’s lips. “Yes you are, Love, whether you are aware of the fact or not.”

 

There was a short silence as Greg contemplated the other man’s words. “I bet Sherlock is far worse when he’s ill,” finally was the only kind of defense he could come up with.

 

“Actually no. Sherlock is far worse when he’s his usual self, but the moment he gets ill he becomes much quieter and less needy. He just wants to sleep and is happy to cuddle if he gets company. At least that’s how it always used to be. I can’t be sure of course if that holds still true today. I don’t think Sherlock has been simply ill since he was twenty-seven.”

 

“Sherlock gets cuddly?” Suddenly Greg’s own misery was completely forgotten as curiosity reared its head.

 

“Yes, he does. And I will tell you all the embarrassing details, once you’ve finished the broth.”

 

“But the broth is terrible.”

 

“So you said. Now I can either call Mrs. Hudson and tell her to come over to cook you a homemade soup or you have to live with what you’ve got.”

 

“Mrs. Hudson?”

 

“Well neither my mother nor yours lives in London so your choices are limited.”

 

Greg frowned. “Give me the broth.”

 

“That’s what I thought.”

*

 

“Sherlock came up with bad puns?” Greg couldn’t believe his ears.

 

“Sherlock came up with one bad pun. And to be fair he was seven and half-delirious with fever. He wanted to make me laugh while I kept him company.”

 

“I can hardly imagine a pun making you laugh.”

 

“Like I said ‘half-delirious’.”

 

Greg waited but Mycroft didn’t continue. “Now TELL me the pun.”

 

“One of Sherlock’s deepest and darkest secrets? That would be a serious breach of trust.” Seeing Greg pout, the elder Holmes smiled. He then went into his best young-Sherlock-impression. “‘Mycie, why is the rodent running in circles?’ - ‘I don’t know, Sherl, why IS the rodent running in circles?’ - “‘Because it’s a pi-rat.’”

 

Lestrade groaned. “That is bad.”

 

Mycroft smiled at the memory. “It was quite cute actually, how he tried to combine his love for pirates with my love for mathematics. The execution was a tad clumsy but the attempt is still very much appreciated.”

 

“OK, so maybe Sherlock is less taxing when he’s ill.”

 

“Come to think of it, maybe we should invite him over, see if he catches whatever you’re suffering from.”

 

“You are a cruel man, Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“No, just one who tries to make the best out of any given situation.” Checking the alarm on his nightstand, Mycroft realised how late it had gotten. “I probably should prepare myself something for dinner. Is there anything you need from the kitchen, Love?”

*

 

After a light dinner, Mycroft helped Gregory getting ready for an early night, making generous use of the Vicks Vaporub he’d bought that day. 

 

“Will you come to bed too?”

 

“There are a few emails I need to take care of first. And a conference call to Washington. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

 

“Okay,” Greg agreed sleepily as Mycroft kissed him goodnight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: This has a part II in "Snippets & Outtakes"


End file.
